


Open Doors

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Awkwardness, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: “Oh, hey, wait—” Sokka calls out when he finally gets into his building, after fighting with the key reader for eight years. He waves to get the attention of whoever’s in the elevator, but as he rushes forward, the strap of his messenger bag gets caught on the door handle and jerks him back. “Wait, hold the—”He gets himself free and runs at the elevator, sticking one of his Converse between the closing doors just in time to stop them. “Hey, sorry, I—” he says as he steps inside, but then he notices who’s standing there and frowns. He turns to stand facing the door, with his arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you to hold the doors.”“Mustn’t have heard you.”Sokka’s neighbour is rude and self-absorbed and never holds the elevator doors for him. But when Sokka locks himself out, one Sunday afternoon, he’s surprised to find an open door across the hall.
Relationships: Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 309





	Open Doors

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the ATLA fic I've been talking about on Tumblr for the past few weeks; I needed a break from that to write something a bit quippier. And I've been reading way too much Zukka fic lately, so. Here you go.
> 
> The tags should give you a pretty good idea of what to expect; mostly humour. The M rating is erring on the side of caution.
> 
> Disclaimer that I've obviously never written these characters before, and this is just meant to be fun, not some in-depth character exploration, so bear that in mind.
> 
> Also, pants are overrated.

“Oh, hey, wait—” Sokka calls out when he finally gets into his building, after fighting with the key reader for eight years. He waves to get the attention of whoever’s in the elevator, but as he rushes forward, the strap of his messenger bag gets caught on the door handle and jerks him back. “Wait, hold the—”

He gets himself free and runs at the elevator, sticking one of his Converse between the closing doors just in time to stop them. “Hey, sorry, I—” he says as he steps inside, but then he notices who’s standing there and frowns. He turns to stand facing the door, with his arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you to hold the doors.”

“Mustn’t have heard you.”

Sokka glances sideways at his neighbour, who’s flipping through a small stack of mail in his hands, with his keys dangling off his pinky. Sokka’s not particularly surprised.

The neighbour—Zuko—has only been living across the hall from Sokka for a few months, but already Sokka can tell he’s not the most friendly of people. He’s never held the door for him, and any time Sokka has tried to make light conversation on the ride up, he says nothing. The only reason Sokka even knows his name is from catching a glimpse of his mail. Which is creepy, when he puts it that way.

At first he thought this Zuko fellow was kind of cool and mysterious. He’s clearly seen some Shit, going by that scar on his face, and he’s a sharp dresser. He looks close to Sokka’s age—mid-to-late twenties, he’d say—but like the grown-up version. He seems like the kind of guy who has his shit together, and Sokka was kind of in awe of that.

But then Sokka realized maybe the guy is just a dick. Though he thinks Zuko must have some personal grudge against him, since he’s seen him hold the elevator for other people. So he’s not a _total_ dick. He’s just a dick to Sokka.

“You heard me,” Sokka grumbles, turning his head away. The rides up with him are always excruciating. They only live on the fifteenth floor, but it might as well be the fiftieth. The ride seems endless.

Sokka tries to ignore him, anyway, distracting himself with whatever that song is that’s been stuck in his head all day. It came on twice while he was at work and now he can’t get rid of it. He doesn’t even like it that much. And he doesn’t realize he’s bopping his head and tapping his foot until Zuko clears his throat. He freezes and stares straight ahead at the doors, which cannot open fast enough.

He squeezes through them as soon as they crack open, and walks down to the end of the hall as fast as he can without it being considered running. It takes him a minute to find his keys again—he put them _somewhere_ after tapping into the building, and he has no idea where—by which point Zuko has reached his own door. They stand with their backs to each other, and Sokka can’t help but feel like it’s a race to see who can get inside faster.

He’s not about to let that haughty bastard win.

“Ah, fuck—“ he mutters when he drops his keys as soon as he whips them out of his pocket triumphantly. He shoves what he hopes is the right key into the lock, but he misses on the first try. “Shit, fuck, piss, balls, gosh darn c— _Aha!_ ”

He looks back over his shoulder when his lock clicks open, ready to bask in his victory, but Zuko is already gone.

Suki’s already left for work by the time Sokka gets home, which happens a lot since she took that bartending job. He misses hanging out with her in the evenings, but it would be worse if they were still dating. On the plus side, when she’s out, it means he can play video games in the living room in his underwear. He doesn’t think he could get away with that while she’s around, even when they were dating—but they didn’t live together at the time, so he never had a chance to test that theory. (He briefly considers texting to ask her, out of curiosity, but figures that would be fairly incriminating.)

He grabs a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge and shoves it in his mouth, cold, before collapsing onto couch. He groans when he realizes the Xbox controller is sitting on the coffee table, and he’ll have to lean forward and stretch his arm to reach it. The universe is a cruel and heartless place, to make him endure such hardships. It’s downright homophobic.

He plays _Cyberpunk 2077_ for a couple of hours, getting greasy fingerprints all over the controller, until he stops to google something on his phone.

“What the fuck?” he says, out loud. He blinks up at the TV, where his game is paused. “In what universe is River a _straight_ guy?”

He reads over the romancing requirements for the character again and balks. The fuzzy collar. The _earring_. Sokka can’t understand why his male player shouldn’t be able to seduce this guy. _Talk about homophobic._

He drops his phone onto the couch next to him, but while he’s trying to decide if he’s annoyed enough to rage-quit, he notices the smell of smoke coming in through the open window.

_Zuko_.

Sokka nearly trips over his own legs in his haste to fling open the balcony door and barrel through it. “Ex _cuse_ me,” he says, glaring at the man on the next balcony over.

Zuko is leaning against the railing of his balcony, staring out at the street with a lit cigarette dangling from his hand. He turns his head to Sokka slowly, though he looks like he’s been caught off-guard.

“Could you _not_ smoke directly in front of my window?” Sokka says, gesturing emphatically at the window in the wall between their balconies. Zuko just stares at him without saying anything, and then his eyes flick down.

Sokka looks down at himself. Right. No pants.

He’s not naked or anything. He’s got boxers on, and a hoodie. And mismatched socks. Really, he has no reason to be embarrassed about this whatsoever.

“Well?” he adds, choosing to sidestep the no-pants issue entirely. He looks back and forth between Zuko and the open window for emphasis.

Zuko turns his head dismissively, but takes a few steps further away, to the other end of his balcony. The balconies are small, though, so it makes very little difference.

“Smoking’s really horrible for you,” Sokka says indignantly. He can’t stand the idea that Zuko’s somehow winning this.

“Really?” Zuko says drily, not even sparing another glance at him. “I had no idea.” He pointedly takes a drag from his cigarette.

“Can’t you at least—” Sokka says in frustration. “Smoke inside or something?”

Zuko finally looks at him again. “It’s against regulations,” he says.

“Well, who cares—”

“It would probably get in your apartment through the air vents anyway.” He turns his head again and stares out towards the buildings across the street. “I’m. Sorry, though. For getting it in your window.”

He sounds sincere enough to make Sokka mentally stumble, and he has to snap his mouth shut because whatever he was about to say next is completely gone. He shoves his hands in the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie. “Well— Okay then.”

Sokka isn’t sure how long he stands there before he realizes he’s just sort of _watching_ Zuko smoke, but then Zuko gives him a sideways glance and he freezes.

“R—Right,” he says, taking a step back towards the door. “Yes. Well. Um. Bye.”

He hurries inside and slides the balcony door shut, so hard the whole thing shakes a little. Then he slams the window shut as well. It’s too cold to have the windows open anyway.

Standing in the middle of the living room, he takes a better look at his ensemble once again. There’s a smudge of cold pizza sauce on the front of his hoodie, and his boxers are the ones covered in boxers—like the dog—wearing bowties. Really, it could have been worse.

Possibly.

* * *

Sokka’s long-awaited No-Pants Weekend is very rudely interrupted by the realization that he needs to take out the garbage.

He’d planned to spend the entire weekend pantsless while Suki is visiting her family out of town, but it’s also been his turn to take out the trash under the kitchen sink for days now, and he can no longer avoid the smell, even from the living room. Suki will be back in a matter of hours, and she will quite literally kill him if this hasn’t been taken care of by then. The last thing she’d said to him before she left was, _“If that garbage is still here when I get back, I will quite literally kill you.”_

He pulls a face the entire time he ties up the bag of smelly trash and holds it out at arm’s length on his way to the door. He doesn’t bother with shoes, since the garbage chute is only a few doors over from his, and he’d like to make this task as quick and painless as possible. He did, however, put pants on first. Grudgingly.

“Ew, ew, ew, ew—” he whines quietly to himself as he carries the bag down the hall. The way it sags in his hand makes him think of a sack of rotting flesh and he tries to hold it out even further until he gets it down the chute.

He reaches into his pocket as soon as he returns to his door, and a grim realization hits him. He pats down all the pockets in his jeans and his hoodie, and then just starts patting himself down everywhere, as if somehow, perhaps, his keys ended up caught in the elbow of his sleeve and he hadn’t noticed. Even though he’s pretty sure they’re on the table just inside the door. All the patting down, however, tells him he left in phone inside too.

So this is great.

He tries the handle a few times, thinking maybe there’s some way it will open after all. When it doesn’t work, he stops for thirty seconds and then tries again. Not because he expects it to work this time, but because he has no idea what else to do. He’s locked himself out before, but only when Suki has been home to let him in—and tease him about it mercilessly. (The one time she locked herself out was possibly the highlight of Sokka’s life; he got to gloat so much.)

He kicks the door in frustration and immediately regrets it since he’s not wearing shoes. Defeated, he leans back against the wall at the end of the hallway and slides down until he’s sitting, legs outstretched in front of him. This is his life for the next few hours, it seems.

Sokka drops his head back and it hits the wall with a satisfying thud, so he lifts it and drops it again, until he’s rhythmically banging his head against the wall. It’s probably not good for him, he knows, but the slight cathartic release is much appreciated right now.

He halts when the door to his right opens. It’s not his door.

“Why are you banging on my wall?” Zuko says, looking down at him like he’s a rodent hanging out in the bottom of a dumpster.

“Oh, uh—” Sokka leans forward and twists to look at the wall behind him. He’s sitting right where their two apartments probably meet, just inside the wall. “Sorry?”

“That really doesn’t answer the question.”

“Well, I didn’t think about it being your wall, now, did I?”

“So you just… like to sit outside your apartment and bang your head on the wall for fun?” Zuko asks hesitantly, as if he thinks that might actually be the reason.

“Only when I lock myself out,” Sokka says, grinning up at him insincerely. “Roommate won’t be back for a few hours, so—” He taps his head against the wall again, with less force this time.

“Please don’t do that,” Zuko says with a grimace, though his voice is softer.

Sokka stops with his head tipped back against the wall, angled to look up at him again. “Sorry.”

“Is there anyone else?” Zuko adds after a pause. “Like a friend with a spare key?”

“Katara!” Sokka exclaims, springing to his feet. Or, getting to his feet awkwardly, with a lot of loud cracks, because he’s not a kid anymore. (He’d always assumed the knee-cracking, back-aching age wouldn’t start until after he was past the No-Pants Weekend age, but he’s come to realize the two are not mutually exclusive.)

“I could—“ He sticks his hands in his kangaroo pouch and frowns. “Right. Phone. That’s… a problem.”

“D’you—” Zuko clears his throat. “You could use mine?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up in offer, and Sokka holds up his hands in response.

“I just touched garbage so I don’t wanna touch your phone—”

“You can wash up inside,” Zuko says, nodding his head towards the rest of his apartment behind him. “I mean. If you want.”

“Um.” Sokka blinks at him for a second; there’s not a hint of condescension in his voice. “Sure.”

He steps inside and Zuko points him to the bathroom—although, since his apartment is the mirror of Sokka’s, it’s easy to figure out where it is. But everything feels just a bit off. He resists the urge to go snooping through the cupboards, though he is curious what sort of things Zuko keeps in here since there is nothing on the countertop. Between Sokka’s hair products and Suki’s skincare stuff, the countertop in their bathroom is littered with bottles and jars and squeeze tubes.

When he steps back out into the main living space, Zuko is waiting for him with his phone in hand.

“Here,” Zuko says, thrusting the phone towards him.

Sokka takes it and finds that it’s all ready for him to make a phone call… and then it hits him. He looks up at Zuko with an apologetic smile. “I, uh, I don’t know her number.”

“Whose?”

“My sister’s.” Sokka presses his hand into his forehead. “I’ve never had to dial it, she’s just in my contacts—”

“Right,” Zuko says, though he doesn’t sound judgmental about it.

Sokka sighs. “Well. Thanks anyway,” he says, handing the phone back. “I’ll try not to bang on your wall—”

“You—” Zuko says when Sokka makes a step towards the front door. “I mean, if you’d rather not sit in the hallway for hours, you could… stay?”

“Oh.” Sokka looks back at him. “Um. Yeah, okay.”

Zuko leads him through to the living room area where there’s a fancy-looking leather couch, and they each take a seat at opposite ends. Sokka shuffles around a bit, trying to get comfortable.

“This does not seem like a fun place to sit without pants,” he says offhandedly, before he can stop himself. Zuko seems thrown off by this declaration, and Sokka quickly adds, “I guess that’s probably not an issue for you. You don’t really seem like a No-Pants Weekend kind of guy.”

Zuko’s cheeks are turning red. It’s times like this Sokka really wished he had an Off switch.

“Anyway,” he says, unsubtly trying to segue into something—anything—else. “Sorry about, you know, all of this. I’m probably ruining your Sunday plans or whatever.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” Zuko mumbles.

“Cool,” Sokka says with a small nod, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “Well, I mean, I don’t want to keep you from whatever you were doing—”

“It’s fine.”

“Cool cool cool. I—Oh wait—Um. I’m Sokka, by the way,” he adds as an afterthought.

“You’ve told me before,” Zuko says, the corner of his mouth twitching up, just a little.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d remember, because, well, why would you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you didn’t really, uh, acknowledge it?” Sokka says, trying to keep his tone light. Zuko lowers his head shyly.

“Right. Um. Sorry,” Zuko says. “I’m—I’m Zuko, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen your mail—” Sokka says, and then promptly wishes he hadn’t.

“You looked at my mail?”

“I mean, just when you had it out in the elevator!” he says defensively. “It’s not like I’m a stalker or anything.” Which is exactly the sort of thing a stalker would say, great.

Zuko’s mouth twitches up again, so at least he finds this amusing instead of creepy.

Sokka tries to keep his mouth shut before he says anything even more embarrassing, and looks around the apartment curiously. He’s not really sure what to make of it. Some of the furniture, like the couch, looks like Zuko’s trying to seem _cool_ , but there’s a well-worn blanket thrown over the side where he’s sitting and a Jane Austen book on the coffee table, and various other things scattered about that make the space feel cozy and lived-in.

“Interesting aesthetic,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not really mine,” Zuko says. “Well, I mean, some of it anyway.” He gestures at the chrome and glass coffee table in front of them. “Like that, or the couch; I didn’t pick them out. It was my ex.”

“And yet you have them?”

“I paid for them,” he says defensively, but his expression quickly softens. “I mean, I guess I kept them out of spite, really. I should probably get rid of them.” He looks down at the seat of the couch between them. “It really is terrible without pants.”

That surprises a laugh out of Sokka, which he chokes on when he tries to hold it in. The corner of Zuko’s mouth is turned up slightly. He has a sense of humour after all.

“Well, what about the rest of it?” Sokka asks, his words broken by the remnants of his laughter. “The blanket that looks like it was knit by hand, the fucking Jane Austen—”

“That stuff’s all mine, yeah,” Zuko says. “And the blanket is crochet, not knitting. It was made by my uncle.”

“You uncle crochets?”

“He says he finds it a very meditative practice.”

“I’m pretty sure I would just end up tangled up in yarn if I tried,” Sokka says, and the slight grimace on Zuko’s face tells him he can relate. “Have you tried?”

“He, uh, he tried to teach me when I was younger,” he says. “I got so fed up that I threw the hook across the room. Only it was made of lightweight plastic and I was a child, so it landed barely a foot away.”

Sokka snickers. “That’s adorable,” he says, and Zuko glares at him half-heartedly. Sokka clears his throat and adopts a jokingly reverent tone. “I’m sure you could throw it farther now, though.”

“At least two feet,” Zuko says, and Sokka laughs again. The smile on Zuko’s face widens, just a little.

It’s a pretty cute smile, Sokka realizes, somewhat horrified. He’s always known Zuko was an attractive guy, physically, but he might even be attractive as a _person_.

Sokka is fucked.

* * *

“So you didn’t fuck him?” Suki asks, after Sokka tells about the afternoon’s adventure, getting locked out of the apartment.

“I— What— I’m— No— Why—” Sokka splutters, his voice jumping half an octave. “We just watched _Bakeoff_ until you got home. And he made us tea.”

“Aww—”

“Don’t.” He points at her and glares, but she just laughs.

“Okay, so you just had a little tea party, but you _do_ want to fuck him, right?” she says.

“Who said that?” he says, his voice still too high to avoid suspicion. Because, yeah, _maybe_ it was something he’d considered, once or twice, since the guy moved in. And _maybe_ he briefly entertained the notion while sitting on his couch, sure. But that doesn’t mean that he—

“Your face, babe,” Suki says, giving him a double-pat on the cheek. He frowns and rubs his cheek, which he’s certain must be turning red by now.

“Even _if_ that were true—and I’m not saying that it is,” Sokka says, putting on an air of nonchalance that he knows is fooling exactly nobody, “I don’t even know if he’s into guys.”

“His _ex_ picked out a leather couch and a chrome coffee table,” Suki says, saying each word carefully, like it should mean something. Sokka had mentioned the thing about the furniture offhand, but isn’t sure how it’s relevant now.

“And?”

“Well, that sounds like furniture picked out by a dude who thinks he’s way cooler than he actually is.” She looks at him pointedly.

He frowns. “So you think Zuko picked them out—”

“I’m saying his ex is a _dude who thinks he’s way cooler than he actually is_ ,” she says, obviously frustrated. “Which means you definitely have a chance with the guy.”

“I—” Sokka isn’t sure what to say to that. “I don’t know if that’s really enough to go on—”

“No straight guy is that well-dressed,” Suki points out. “And, while I’m not saying that all queer guys are snappy dressers, because—” She gestures to what he’s wearing while he chews on his hood-strings. “In his case, I am quite confident.”

“Well,” he says, pulling the string out of his mouth, “I don’t see how any of this matters, because it’s not like I plan on making a habit of locking myself out whenever you’re out of town, so—”

“You know you can spend time with him for other reasons, right?”

Sokka balks at this. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but it’s not like he’s about to show up at my door one day and ask me on a date.”

“And I don’t know if you’ve realized, but you could show up at his door one day and ask him.”

“Preposterous.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay.”

Sokka shows up at Zuko’s door two days later, to ask him out, but after knocking for an obscenely long time, he decides Zuko is either not home or—and this is the more likely scenario, he believes—he’s avoiding answering because he somehow knows it’s Sokka and knows what he’s going to ask.

“He did not somehow _know_ it was you or what you were going to ask,” Suki says, followed by a groan of frustration.

“Nevertheless,” Sokka says, brows furrowed, slumping back into the couch with his arms folded over his chest. “The universe has spoken.” He sticks one of his hood-strings in his mouth, but Suki yanks it out.

“I’ve seen you put that thing in your nose,” she says.

“It’s _funny_ ,” he argues, but she bats his hands away before he can show her.

“Please, please, please,” she says, “don’t wear this hoodie when you ask him out.”

“I’m not going to ask him out,” he huffs. “The universe—”

“Has spoken, yeah.”

Sokka’s right; he doesn’t try to ask Zuko out again. Instead, he—very awkwardly, in the confined space of the elevator after work one day—asks Zuko if he eats meat, because he wants to cook him some meat to thank him for the save. He later realizes he could have just said _food_ , like a normal person, but what is a meal without meat, anyway?

He also realizes, even later, that at no point did he mention that this was a date. So obviously it wasn’t. Because that would be a real jerk move, to pull a bait and switch like that. Inviting Zuko over for some innocent meat and then making a move on him. Sokka has principles.

“It’s obviously a date,” Suki tells him as she gets ready to head out for work.

“It is not obvious,” Sokka says, “and, frankly, I don’t think I trust your judgment, if you think I have an ounce of subtlety in me to pull that off.”

“…Touché.”

There’s a knock at the door less than half an hour after Suki leaves—ten minutes earlier than scheduled—and Sokka opens it to find Zuko looking sheepish and holding a bottle of wine.

“Uh, I know I’m early,” he says, before Sokka can even invite him inside, “but I get stressed sitting in my apartment waiting to go somewhere, so I thought maybe I could help, or—”

“It’s cool,” Sokka says, holding the door open for him. “I’m nearly done anyway.”

Zuko steps inside and awkwardly shoves the bottle of wine into Sokka’s chest. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure what you were cooking, but this is all I had—”

“No, no, thanks,” Sokka says, examining the bottle. For what, he’s not entirely sure. “I, uh, don’t really drink wine—”

“Shit—”

“I’ve got beer,” he adds quickly. “But if you’d rather drink this—” He tries to hand the bottle back.

“Beer’s fine,” Zuko says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Does your roommate like wine?”

“Suki? Yeah, she’d probably be into this.”

“Keep it for her, then. I’m good.”

Sokka grins and sets the wine on the counter—where Suki will definitely see it and definitely drink it without question—and takes a couple bottles of beer from the fridge. He’s about to use the hem of his shirt to unscrew the caps before he remembers that he put on one of his _nice_ shirts today, and that would probably be bad for it.

He turns to find Zuko taking off his shoes by the door, and stifles a laugh. “You put on shoes to come across the hall?”

Zuko looks up, blushing slightly. “Um. Yes?”

Sokka chuckles as he opens the bottles with the towel hanging under the sink. He hands one to Zuko and clinks the necks together.

“Is this local?” Zuko asks, inspecting the label while Sokka takes a deep swig.

“Yeah, Suki and I are kind of into trying weird and local beers,” Sokka says. “But we’re not, like, _craft beer enthusiasts_ or something—”

Zuko snorts, and then holds the bottle in front of his face, embarrassed. “Sorry, I just—” He laughs into the back of his hand. “The way you said it.”

“You know the type I’m talking about, though, right?”

“Uh, yeah… So, you know my ex with the couch?”

“He was a ‘craft beer enthusiast’?” Sokka asks, though he only notices his pronoun assumption after the fact. Zuko doesn’t bat an eye.

“Yeah, well, he, uh— He liked to think he was some sort of _beer sommelier_ , or something, like he knew everything,” he says. “But I’m pretty sure he just googled some keywords and peppered them into his beer analyses at random.”

Sokka nearly spits out the sip of beer he’s just taken. “Sorry, sorry—” he says, trying not to choke. “The phrase _‘peppered into his beer analyses’_ was not something I ever expected to hear in my life, and I didn’t know how much I needed it.”

Zuko’s eyes crinkle up when he laughs, and Sokka can’t help but think it’s a shame he doesn’t laugh literally all the time. Sokka could watch him like this for hours.

But that would be weird, so Sokka definitely does not watch Zuko for hours; he merely sneaks glances at him throughout their meal, and then maintains a comfortable, respectable level of eye contact while they sit on the couch with more beer.

“Wait, wait, I have to show you,” Sokka says setting his beer on the coffee table and getting his phone out of his pocket. Zuko audibly winces when Sokka sets the condensation-coated bottle onto the wooden-like surface, and Sokka bites back a laugh. “Dude, it’s from IKEA.”

“Obviously,” Zuko says, “but still.”

“ _Pfft_.”

Sokka scoots towards Zuko as he pulls up his photos on his phone and searches for the right folder. He smiles to himself when Zuko scoots towards him as well.

“Okay, so here’s a recent photo Katara sent me,” he says, angling the phone so Zuko can see the photo of his six-month-old nephew. “He’s got such a big head, it’s hilarious.”

“I think it’s cute,” Zuko says, leaning in to get a closer look.

“Of course it’s cute; he’s the cutest fucking baby ever.” Sokka scrolls through the album to the older photos. He pulls up one of himself holding the baby, who’s just a tiny thing in his arms “This is what he looked like when he was a few days old.”

“He looks kind of like a doll.”

“That’s what I said! Like, how does a person get so tiny?” Sokka laughs. “I’d never held a baby before so I was kind of afraid I’d break him.”

“You look really happy in that picture,” Zuko says, his tone a bit more serious.

“Oh, I so was,” Sokka says. “I mean, I was also kind of freaked out? Because my little sister just had a baby, and I’m like— I’m still a child myself, right?”

Zuko laughs.

“Or I might as well be. There’s no way I could take care of a tiny human at this point in my life.”

“People are different,” Zuko says with a shrug.

Sokka scrolls through a few more of the highlights—there are literally hundreds of photos in this album, so he has to skip most of them—and at one point Zuko reaches for the phone to hold it still while he gets a better look at another photo of Sokka holding his nephew, and his fingertips bump Sokka’s. Sokka looks sideways at him to see if he notices, but Zuko’s just staring at the photo with a happy, hazy look in his eye.

So Sokka keeps looking at him, because— _wow_ —he has really nice eyelashes. And his lips look soft. And he smells really good—

“It’s weird that you don’t smell like cigarettes,” Sokka says out of nowhere, then promptly wishes he hadn’t, when Zuko turns to look at him and his face is _right there_.

“Um, I’m not… really much of a smoker,” Zuko says, running a hand through his hair as he sits back in his seat—most notably _away_ from Sokka. “I mean, I used to, but I mostly quit? Just when I’m really stressed, sometimes I… Well. I should really quit for good, I know.”

“Right, sorry,” Sokka says, hanging his head forward in embarrassment and running a hand through his own hair. He left it down tonight and it falls in his face when he leans forward.

“I like your hair like this,” Zuko says quietly, and for a moment Sokka wonders if he just imagined it. “Loose like this, I mean. But, I like it when it’s up too, I just. I’ve never seen it down like this and I— It’s nice.” Zuko squeezes his eyes shut as face goes red. “Sorry, I think I had too many of your pretentious craft beers.”

Sokka laughs and leans back into the cushion behind him, turning his head towards Zuko. “I don’t mind,” he says.

Zuko leans back as well, mirroring Sokka’s position, and smiles. “Well, good, because I’ve lost most of my filter already.”

Sokka snorts. “You’re not _that_ drunk.”

“No,” Zuko replies, still smiling. “I’m not.”

This would be the perfect time to make a move, Sokka thinks. He’s no body language expert or anything, but he thinks his chances with Zuko have gone from _‘not at all likely’_ to ‘ _would probably let Sokka blow him right now’_.

“Hey,” Sokka says quietly, letting his hand rest on the couch between them.

Zuko lets his hand rest next to it. “Hey,” he says, and he bites his lip.

Sokka sticks his pinky finger out enough to brush the side of Zuko’s hand. It is probably the most timid move he’s ever made, at least since his first girlfriend ten years ago, but he doesn’t want anything to ruin this moment. He wants to stay in it as long as possible. He wants it to last—

“I fucking. Hate. _People_ ,” Suki announces as she throws open the door. “I just—” She stops when she notices the guys on the couch, who are now both sitting bolt upright, totally not chill, and barely more than a foot apart, because they are definitely gay and terrible at hiding it. “Whoa, sorry! I— I can go hide—”

“No, uh, I’m— I have to go anyway,” Zuko says as he stands quickly. Probably too quickly, considering how long they’d been sitting, given his slight wobble when he does.

“Seriously, I have headphones that block out everything—”

“ _Goodnight_ , Suki,” Sokka says loudly. He knows it’s too late for anything that might have happened with Zuko before he got spooked, but at the very least he needs Suki to _stop talking about it_.

He walks Zuko to the door, and Zuko thanks him for a lovely evening, and it’s all very cordial and pleasant, and it sounds like a big, _“You’re never going to see me naked,”_ right now. But Sokka keeps a smile plastered on his face until the door closes.

He thinks about looking up _‘how to murder your roommate and get away with it’_ , but decides that would probably put him on some sort of list, and also he knows he would regret it at some point. But maybe not tonight.

* * *

“You know you could talk to _him_ , right?” Suki says, stretched out on the couch with a glass of the wine Zuko brought over the other night. Sokka briefly wonders if she hangs out here with no pants when he’s at work, too, but figures that’s none of his business.

He’s just gotten home from his shift, and told Suki about his latest encounter with Zuko in the elevator; another ride in stone-cold silence. It’s the third time this week. He pries off his Converse and leaves them strewn on their sides in the vague vicinity of the mat by the door.

“If he was at all interested, he would have said something by now,” Sokka says, and Suki moves her legs so he can collapse onto the couch as well.

“Maybe if _you_ were at all interested, _you_ would have said something by now,” she mutters. She doesn’t even look up from her phone.

“Hey, I’m trying to be _aloof_ , okay?” he says. “I’ve already come across like a desperate weirdo, so I’m trying to dial it back if I want any chance.”

She blinks up at him. “You know he probably likes that you’re a weirdo, right?” she says. “He was sitting awfully close to you, and I know for a fact that your weirdness can be endearing.”

Sokka smiles a little. “Really?”

“Sometimes,” she deadpans.

His expression drops. “Thanks.” He leans back and sighs loudly, throwing his arms over his face. “Maybe I completely misread things,” he says. “Maybe he was never interested; maybe he was just being friendly.”

“I mean, I don’t know the guy very well,” Suki says, returning her attention to her phone, “but he doesn’t really seem overly friendly, in general.”

“I know, but—”

“From what you told me about that night, he’s into you, Sokka.”

“But what if I’m wrong?” he says, dropping his arms at his sides. “What if I built it all up in my head?” He groans. “Why is it so hard for me to tell if a guy is into me? Girls are so much easier.”

Suki snorts. “For you, maybe.”

He looks over at her with an eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Sorry, but growing up as a girl who likes girls is a minefield,” she says. “Straight girls can be so affectionate, and my dumb bisexual ass couldn’t tell which were the friendly cuddles and which were the flirty ones. That’s not a fun mistake to make.”

“So you’re telling me you spent your high school years surrounded by girls touching you, and that’s somehow a bad thing?”

“I mean… It’s not the _worst_ thing,” she says, holding her glass in front of her face sheepishly.

He pulls a cushion out from under his arm and smacks her on the legs with it. “Yes, well, opportunities to cuddle with guys were not so abundant in my youth,” he says as she laughs. “That is also not a fun mistake to make.”

“You’re not making a mistake with Zuko,” she says, her laughter dying down. “Even if he’s not interested that way—”

Sokka groans again.

“—He’s not going judge you or anything. At the very least it seems he likes you as a friend,” she adds. “And that’s not the worst, is it?”

“I guess not, but still. _Ugh_.”

“He won’t know how you feel unless you tell him. So maybe just, you know… Tell him.”

Sokka knocks on the door and tries to keep his cool. There’s no reason he can’t be cool about this. Telling a guy he likes him. He’s done it before. It’s not a big deal.

He takes a deep breath and knocks again. He knows Zuko must be home because they rode up together not fifteen minutes ago. Unless he just came home to change quickly and then head out for a date or something. God, he’s probably on a date with someone else and—

“Sokka?” Zuko says when he answers the door. He’s still in his clothes from work, minus the tie and jacket. He looks concerned. “Something wrong?”

“Uh, no, I just—” Sokka holds up the bottles in his hand. “Thought maybe you’d want some pretentious craft beer?”

Zuko smiles shyly and lets him in. Sokka follow him into the kitchen where he opens a bottle for each of them, and they lean against adjoining sides of the L-shaped counter.

“I hope this isn’t, like, an intrusion,” Sokka says, noticing the way Zuko’s head is lowered.

Zuko shakes his head but doesn’t look up. “No, it’s— I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been kinda weird this week. I just thought— I thought maybe I… misinterpreted what that was, the other night.”

“Misinterpreted what what was?”

Zuko laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck. “I thought maybe it was supposed to be a date?” he says, his voice tilting up at the end like a question. “But then I realized you never said it was, and I was just—”

“No, it’s—It’s fine,” Sokka says. He takes a tentative sip of beer as he lets that sink in; Zuko thought it was a date and he showed up anyway. “I… I guess I wasn’t sure if you would want to come over if it…”

“If it was a date?” Zuko says, finally lifting his head to look at him.

Sokka bites the inside of his lip to keep from grinning. This is very much _not_ aloof. But maybe that doesn’t matter.

They stand there in silence for a while, self-consciously sipping their drinks, but it’s not stone-cold this time; if anything, the silence contains this heated energy that Sokka is not quite bold enough to lean into yet. So he keeps sipping. And watching. He watches Zuko watching him. And he tries not to smile too broad.

“Can I ask why you’re dressed like that?” Zuko says, breaking the silence but not the spell.

Sokka glances down at his outfit—fitted black button-down with skinny black pants, cuffed at the ankle. “Um, I wear this for work,” he says sheepishly.

“I figured,” Zuko says with a hint of a smile that’s almost teasing. “I just can’t figure out where. Starbucks?”

There’s no judgment when he says it, so Sokka figures it’s safe to tell him the truth. “I work at Avatar,” he says.

“The… clothing store?” Zuko asks curiously.

“Hey, they also sell homewares,” Sokka points out, pretending to be offended.

Zuko gives him a playful smirk. “I would definitely buy lots of pants and scented candles from you, so they’re good at hiring, I’ll give them that,” he says, and Sokka laughs.

“I mean, if you ever need a discount on pants or scented candles, I can hook you up,” Sokka says with a wink.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Zuko’s smile goes shy again as he takes another sip. Sokka watches him without even pretending that he’s not.

“So,” Sokka adds after a minute, sliding along the edge of the counter towards the inner corner. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Zuko shifts his stance, but Sokka isn’t sure if he moves closer intentionally or not. “Apology for what?”

“For not saying it was a date.” Sokka looks down at his hand pressed against the counter; if he could go back and do this whole thing over again, he would. He’d make it a date right from the start—and make sure they didn’t waste ten fucking minutes looking at photos of his nephew when there were so many better things they could have been doing.

“Was it, then?” Zuko asks, and this time when he shifts closer, Sokka’s pretty sure it’s intentional.

“I wanted it to be…” Sokka slides his hand into the corner where the counters meet, and Zuko slides his hand in until their knuckles brush.

“I thought maybe,” Zuko says, his voice low and a little raspy, “we were going to…”

“Yeah,” Sokka says. He swallows. “I thought so too.”

He’s staring at Zuko’s eyes and jaw and lips, and as soon as Zuko pushes his chin forward, head tilted, Sokka is gone. He kisses him like one long, deep breath of fresh air, cupping his free hand to the side of Zuko’s neck. Zuko tucks his arm around Sokka’s waist and pulls him close, and Sokka whimpers unflatteringly into Zuko’s mouth. He hadn’t realized quite how desperate he had been for this moment.

The mess that ensues as the result of open beer bottles forgotten in their hands is at once hilarious and mortifying, but Sokka is too distracted to care about the cold, wet fabric clinging to the side of his leg.

“Shit, sorry—” Zuko hisses, but Sokka cuts him off. Who needs pants, anyway?

They clumsily set the bottles in the sink behind Zuko’s back and Sokka presses into him more urgently. This is definitely not how he saw this evening progressing, when he stepped out of the elevator earlier, but he’s not complaining now.

Zuko hooks his thumbs into the unused belt loops of Sokka’s pants—they’re snug enough they don’t need a belt—and urges him backwards, keeping their mouths firmly locked in battle. Sokka nearly stumbles over his own feet, but Zuko presses a hand into his back to steady him.

He continues staggering backward awkwardly until he hits something that he realizes is the back of the couch. When he sets his hands on it to brace himself, he stops. It doesn’t feel like leather.

“You got a new couch?” he asks as he looks down at the soft grey upholstery.

“Yeah, I figured it was time,” Zuko says with a breathless laugh. His face is flushed and his hair is sticking out where Sokka had mussed it.

Sokka runs his hand along the fabric. “Seems much better for no pants,” he says with a smirk, which Zuko—somewhat surprisingly—returns.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Nevertheless, Zuko insists on spreading a blanket out—not the hand-crocheted one from his uncle—before any bare asses—or worse—touch the couch. But it doesn’t stop Sokka from enjoying every second of kissing him, tasting him, of making Zuko come undone under his touch. And Zuko seems to enjoy returning the favour just as much.

Sitting next to Zuko, afterwards, Sokka thinks he could get used to this sort of pantslessness around him. He leans against Zuko and presses his lips to his shoulder, where his open shirt has slipped down in all the commotion.

“Hey,” Zuko says, giving Sokka’s knee a gently squeeze.

Sokka lifts his head to look at him with a dazed smile. “Hey.”

“I, um—” Zuko looks away shyly. “I should probably start cooking dinner—”

“Oh,” Sokka says, sitting up straight. “Yeah, totally.” He reaches for his clothes on the floor by their feet. “I probably should do that too—”

“Wait, I didn’t mean—“

“My night to cook,” he continues quickly. He forces a laugh. “Suki’s already started on the wine, so she’ll be no help.”

“Sokka—”

“This was cool, though.” He stands as he pulls his pants up his legs, cringing at the damp patch of beer getting dragged over his skin. “We should—” He stops himself from continuing that sentence. If Zuko wants him to leave already, then they probably shouldn’t do this again some time.

“Look,” Zuko says, standing to dress as well, “I only meant that I—”

“No, it’s cool! I really have to go, so— Yeah, I’m just gonna…” Sokka makes his way towards the door in awkward, jerky motions, and thanks Zuko on his way out.

He feels like a dumbass.

* * *

“You are such a dumbass,” Suki says, squishing Sokka’s face between her hands. She gives him a patronizing kiss on the forehead before continuing over to the kitchen.

“Well, I couldn’t very well share an elevator with him after what happened, could I?” Sokka says. He drops his head back against the couch cushion and wonders if he’ll ever be able to move his legs again.

“You could have waited for the next one,” she points out. “You didn’t have to climb _fifteen flights of stairs_.”

“Fourteen,” he says. “I started on the first floor—”

“ _Oh my god_ , not the point,” she says.

“Fine, I panicked,” he says with a groan, trying to fan himself with the front of his shirt.

“Do you want me to open the window for you?” Suki offers, but Sokka stops her when she crosses the room.

“No, leave it closed,” he says. He shut it a couple days ago after he smelled smoke for the third night in a row. He doesn’t really want to think about what it means that Zuko is smoking so much—he said he only does it when he’s really stressed.

_What’s he got to be stressed about, anyway?_ Sokka thinks to himself. _I’m the one who made a fool of myself. Again._

Suki stands in front of him, blocking out the fading sun coming in through the window, which halos around her and makes her look imposing and somewhat mystical. He blinks at her. “I don’t know how many more times I can say _‘just talk to him’_ before it actually sinks into your thick skull,” she says, “so I’ll make this the last. _Talk to him_. Or one day you’ll end up passed out in the stairwell on the thirteenth floor.”

“I think if I build up my strength and endurance, I could—”

“You are _not_ going to avoid the elevator forever. Just _talk to_ —”

“If he wanted to hear anything I have to say, he would have talked to me by now—”

“Not if you keep avoiding him!” She sounds exasperated. “He probably thinks _you’re_ not interested. You need to make the first—”

She stops when there’s a knock at the door, and they both frown at each other. Anyone they know with a key to get in the building usually texts before they stop by. Sokka, slowly and painfully, checks his phone. Nothing.

“I suppose I’ll get that, shall I?” Suki says, and she flicks Sokka on the head as she walks past him to the door.

“Love you too,” he mutters back.

“Um. Hi,” says a familiar voice, and Sokka cranes his neck around to look. “Can I speak to Sokka?” Zuko asks, and Suki, claiming she’s not Sokka’s receptionist, waves him in.

If Sokka’s legs weren’t threatening to detach themselves right now, he would probably run. He really does not want to have this conversation. Ever.

Zuko frowns at him as he shuffles over, hands in his pockets. “You okay?” he says, examining the way Sokka is stretched out on the couch at odd angles.

“Just peachy,” Sokka says with a forced smile.

“I, um. Can I ask you something?” Zuko says, and Sokka’s expression softens; he can tell Zuko is nervous.

“Yeah?”

Zuko’s eyes cut over to where Sokka assumes Suki must be standing, and she mutters something about going to look for her glasses—even though, last Sokka saw of her, she was wearing them. But he hears her leave and close the door to her room, giving the two of them some privacy.

“Right. So,” Zuko begins, unable to hold Sokka’s gaze. “I know I should probably take the hint—I mean you literally ran towards the stairwell when you saw me in the elevator today—but I just thought, since I don’t know if I made it completely clear last time I saw you—” He takes a breath and then fixes his eyes on Sokka. “I like you. And I want to go out with you. On a date.”

Sokka blinks up at him. That’s not what he expected him to say.

“And maybe you’re not interested, and that’s fine,” he continues. “But you left before I could ask you to stay for dinner, and I just sort of wonder if you would have wanted to. Stay, I mean. If I had been brave enough to ask.”

“Um,” is all Sokka can seem to say; he can’t remember any other words at all.

Zuko visibly deflates. “Okay, well—”

“Yeah,” Sokka finally manages to say. “I would’ve wanted to.” He closes his eyes and sighs inwardly. He hates when Suki is right about stuff like this, but it’s true; he is such a dumbass.

“So…” Zuko adds, an unspoken question at the end. Sokka smiles for real.

“Yeah,” he says. “I like you, too. And I want to go out with you. On a date.”

The fear and hesitation on Zuko’s face melts into a shy smile.

“But not right now,” Sokka adds with a laugh. “Because I just climbed fifteen flights of stairs and I am wiped—”

“Fourteen!” he hears Suki call from the other room, through the closed door.

“What happened to your fucking headphones?” Sokka hollers back.

“Well—“ Zuko adds, his hesitance returning a little. “I mean, if you’re just going to be sitting here, I could… sit with you?”

Sokka grins at him. “I’d like that.”

He moves his legs—groaning in pain the whole time—to make room for Zuko to have a seat, and then stretches his legs back out over Zuko’s lap.

“Heads up, I use people as furniture a lot,” he says, still smiling.

Zuko is still smiling back. “I’m cool with that.”

* * *

“You know what’s great about you not having a roommate?” Sokka says as he stretches out on Zuko’s couch.

“That you’re the only one who steals my food?” Zuko replies, carrying over two mugs of tea from the kitchen.

“That, and,” Sokka says, beaming. “Every weekend can be No-Pants Weekend.”

Zuko hums in consideration as he sets the mugs—onto coasters—on the wooden coffee table. “Reasonable,” he says.

Sokka lifts one leg and bumps his foot against Zuko’s butt, right where there’s a flame design on his boxers—boxers that Sokka picked out for him, no less. Zuko swats at his leg.

“Move over,” Zuko says, forcing Sokka’s legs out of the way. He sits down and Sokka immediately stretches his legs across Zuko’s lap. But Zuko doesn’t complain.

Zuko runs his hand along Sokka’s calf, following it with his eyes as he continues up Sokka’s leg to the hem of his boxers. “I always liked these ones, you know,” he says, tugging on them to get a better look at the design—boxers wearing bowties.

“Who knew, that day, many moons ago, that you would be granted the opportunity to see them as much as you like,” Sokka says wistfully.

“I certainly didn’t know,” Zuko says, squeezing his leg. “But I hoped.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!
> 
> I also did an art of Sokka's outfits [here](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com/post/645642258826313728/weekday-vs-weekend).


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